The ring of the phone interrupted her musings.
“Hello Stone, how’s it going?”
Only one person calls me by the Aboriginal meaning of my name.
“It goes, Camira. What’s up?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“Are you okay?”
“I saw something I wished I hadn’t and it’s got me spooked.”
“What did you see?”
“I can’t talk about it over the phone. Can you come over?”
“I’m meeting with Chris, followed by two lectures back-to-back, one at the University Library and the other at the Reserve – brainstorming with ways the women’s group to organize the next election for a new Chief, female, I hope. Then it’s off to the council meeting in the city at 7:00pm. If it’s really important, I’ll cancel the council meeting.”
“No, don’t cancel, it can wait until later. What time do you think you’d be here?”
“By 10:00 at the latest.”
“Hanya, please make sure you come. I don’t care how late it is.”
“No worries, put the kettle on, I’ll be there.”
Hanya was puzzled. It wasn’t typical of her cousin’s behaviour. They were close but both of them were both guarded their independence. She couldn’t remember the last time Camira sounded needy but she will always remember the first time she met her.
She was standing on their grandmother’s doorstep clutching a torn, dirty, yellow Snow White backpack. Her parents had dropped her off and it was the last anyone saw of them – they never came back. At six years of age, the skinny, stringing hair kid with a bruised heart, moved into Hanya’s room and into her heart.
Two cousins, whose grief over lost parents bonded them tighter than blood sisters. Hanya’s father had died when she was eight years old in a prison fight. Her mother died a month later of an overdose. At least I knew what happened to my parents. Camira never did. It was as if her parents had been wiped off the face of the earth.
Their alliance born from pain never failed. It held throughout their shared home life with their grandmother, on the school yard, and the drug saturated reserve. Maybe I should cancel tonight’s meeting. No, Camira said it could wait until after the meeting.
She answered the knock at the door. John, one of her students, stood there, a goofy smile on his face, books in hand. She forgot she had penciled him in for 15 minutes.
***
Roger sat behind the wheel of the unmarked car, pulled out his cell and punched in Randy’s number.
“Yeah.”
“Caught you napping didn’t I?”
“For Christ sake’s Roger, what do you expect? The sun’s not even up yet.”
“Oh yes it is, heading for mid-day as we speak. Wouldn’t think of disturbing you but I can’t make the race this afternoon. You know the one where my Mustang sucks your wreck up my tailpipe.”
“Shit. We need the trial run to get ready for the big race. Don’t go backing out on me now.”
“Aren’t you the princess this morning! I’m on a case.”
“Yeah, well, that sucks, couldn’t happen at a better time. I don’t suppose someone can fill in for you?”
“Are you kidding? Loan my baby to one of your seedy friends, not on a bet. No one sits behind that wheel except me.”
“Okay. I’ll see if that useless brother-in-law of mine will drive the spare. Take it easy man, watch your back.”
“Always.”
One more call to make. He reached voice mail. Of course, she’s working the 7 am shift, morning rounds. He left a message. “Hey, Sara, listen, tonight’s not going to work. Sorry babe, we’ve got a hot, high profile case. Watch the evening news; you’ll see what I mean. Call when I can.”
A disturbing realization hit him on the drive to the theatre. Cancelling his date with Sara was disappointing; cancelling the car race was devastating. No contest. The growl of the engines, screaming tires, lightning speed pit stops, crashes, near misses, the roar of the crowd, spiked an overwhelming, exhilarating, exhausting and glorious passion in his soul. A infatuation that was as strong today as it was back then when he was 15 years old and his father took him to Nascar.
When he got back home, he begged, pleaded, grovelled before his parents, offering to mow lawns, wash cars, clean bathrooms, weed flower beds, give up Christmas gifts, if they would spring for the 64 Chevy one of buddies had for sale.
Nagging day and night until they folded and for the next two years he spent his free time breaking down and rebuilding the car in the family garage. Passion for girls came second and, still does.
Pulling into the empty parking spot across the street from the theatre, he walked towards the glass door entrance, saw two men, toe to toe, their yells reaching his ears. He moved fast and in seconds was inside the building.
“Hey, you two, cool it before someone gets hurt.”
Henry and Andrew each took a step back, both breathing hard.
“What the hell is going on?”
Andrew spoke first. Henry still hadn’t caught his breath.
“Everything’s cool. We got heated over nothing. Isn’t that right, Henry?”
Henry nodded. “A dispute over the next production, that’s all.”
“Yeah”, Andrew said. “I’m out of here. We’ll talk later, Henry.”
Roger watched Andrew cross the street and get into his car. Henry locked the door and motioned for Roger to follow him.
“Sorry about that. Arguments are par for the course in this business. Nothing serious, it’ll blow over.”
Would hate to see a serious one, Roger thought, but he said nothing, filed it away for now. Ward unlocked the door of the Director’s office, seated himself behind the desk and pointed to the chair facing him.
Roger recognized a power move when he saw one. He put the tape recorder on the desk, stepped back, leaned against the filing cabinet, his legs crossed at the ankles, hands in his pockets.
“I’ll stand if you don’t mind.”
Ward’s face said he minded.
“I assume you know why I’m here,
